


O Mio Babbino Caro

by gracefulblue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Feelings, Fluff, M/M, Opera AU, conductor!cas, tenor!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 12:25:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5666005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracefulblue/pseuds/gracefulblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is the star of the opera, but Castiel is still trying to help him really understand what the song is about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Mio Babbino Caro

**Author's Note:**

> I was in a master class for choir today and one of the girls sang this. I am a giant slut for good singing voices, so of course I had to imagine what it would be like if Dean sang the song. I know I have a couple other things I'm supposed to be working on, but this is honestly the most stuff I've ever posted in my entire time in the fandom, so please be patient.
> 
> As always, you can find me at [graceful-blue](http://graceful-blue.tumblr.com/22%), or you can just sing a high A and I'll melt out of the wood work to compliment you.

The sweet tenor voice floating on a bed of twinkling piano accompaniment through the air cut off abruptly, leaving the hall hollow, and not in the way that sends shivers through one’s body. The owner of said voice was none too happy about this.

 

Dean raised an eyebrow, arms folding over his chest. “What was wrong with  _ that _ one?” He asked, voice sharper than it had been the first ten times he’d been stopped in the middle of a perfectly good run through.

 

Castiel Novak, the conductor, set down his baton, rested his elbows lightly on his music stand, and looked at Dean with that infuriating, soul-deep stare he seemed to reserve solely for the lead tenor.

 

“Dean, tell me what this opera is about,” he said in a low, calm voice. 

 

Dean sighed and rubbed his face. “A dude can’t marry the person he loves because he’s poor.”

 

Castiel cocked an eyebrow. “Is that all it’s about?”

 

“No, of course not!” There was nothing that boiled Dean's blood so much as the insinuation that he doesn’t love opera with all his heart and soul and doesn’t give it his all. He huffed, refusing to acknowledge the angry blush rising in his face, before continuing. “These two people love each other so much, everyone’s trying to keep them apart because they’re both too poor, but they’d die if they couldn’t be together…” He wouldn’t ever say so out loud, but the story connected with Dean on a deeply personal level.

 

Something soft washed over the conductor's face. He stepped forward, hands outstretched. Dean had lost count of how many times he had to do this in school; Castiel didn’t have to tell him what was happening. 

 

“Sing to me,” he murmured, hands soft and warm in Dean’s own.

 

This was always the hardest part for him. Having to give all the emotions of not just his character, but he himself, to just one person made him feel naked and raw, like his heart was being projected for the whole world to see, except the whole world was just the one person, and he had to trust that one person with everything he had. If this time was like any other, he’d be crying by the end of the song.

 

The piano drifted into the air, filling up Dean’s lungs and pulling the song up from the core of his being. He took his breath, and let the words flow out.

 

“ _ O mio babbino caro, mi piace,  _ _ è  _ _ bello bello,  _ _ vo’andare in Porta Rossa a comperar l’anello. _ ” His mouth formed the words like they were made for him, like God built his lips just so they could curve perfectly around each word. 

 

“ _ Si, si, ci voglio andare. E se l’amassi indarno, andrei sul Ponte Vecchio ma per buttarmi in Arno.”  _ Castiel wouldn’t stop  _ looking  _ at him, like his pain was actually worth listening to. Dean had always been good at lying to himself, but even he could tell that this was much more than him embracing the character, and the undivided attention and those damn blue eyes were unnerving him, making his heart thud more than his first professional performance.

 

“ _ Mi struggo e mi tormento, O Dio. Vorrei morir. _ ” Why the hell would anyone, especially Cas, this conductor who found a flaw in everything, care about his broken heart? His dad didn’t, and that’s one of the things dads are  _ supposed _ to do. Not turn their backs on their suicidal sons because, what, he’s not strictly into vagina?

 

So, yeah, he’s kind of fucked up a bit. Singing always fixed that, always turned the hurt and the ugly into something beautiful, something people would give a standing ovation for. How many people could go from overdosing to travelling around the world just so people could listen to their voices? Not a whole hell of a lot.

 

Singing was the only thing he could control. How much vibrato he had, if he crescendoed or decrescendoed, what the tone of the song was--he could even control what the audience felt, just by changing the tempo. He’d never had that in his life. His voice was the only thing that was really and truly  _ his _ , and no one else's.

 

And here he was, giving all that to Castiel, only Castiel. Fuck, no matter how many times he’s done this, it always pulled his heart out and left him exposed. 

 

Castiel didn’t even flinch. He didn’t flinch, and he didn’t grimace, and he didn’t frown, and he didn’t even have that solemn look that Dean was pretty sure he’d been wearing since the day he was born. He just looked...safe. Like Dean could open his chest up to him, and nothing would be broken or stolen by the end. 

 

“ _ Babbo, pietà, pietà. Babbo, pietà, pietà. _ ”

 

Though his voice never wavered, though it filled the hall and made the air shimmer, though the people working on their own parts and the crew working on the stage all stopped to listen, though it was by all accounts perfect, Dean still cried.

All of a sudden, those soft, warm hands were cupping his face. Castiel wiped the streaking tears away with the pad of his thumb. It made tingles crawl under his skin, and he shivered.

 

They stood like that for Dean didn’t know how long, maybe minutes, maybe an hour. Time was never his forte. 

 

“That,” Castiel murmured, voice softer than he’d ever heard it, “is what the opera is about.”

 

He pulled Dean into a hug, and okay, maybe he didn’t ever want to let go, but he wasn’t gonna say that.

 

xxx

 

It was the best performance of his entire career. The stage was covered in roses thrown from the audience, and the standing ovation went on for a solid ten minutes.

 

Dean absolutely did  _ not _ cry.

 

xxx

  
That isn’t to say he didn’t cry later that night, with Castiel buried deep inside him and the crash of climax finally ebbing into a gentle, golden glow.


End file.
